Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

“Could they really have blown themselves up?”

“The explosion at Yagishiri that obliterated Thero’s lab was never adequately explained,” Paul said, “but Yaeger thinks it more likely that the sensor might have given away their location and allowed Thero to strike.”

The Gemini was already turning. The thrum of her engines and propellers could be felt strengthening. Gamay looked at the map.

“Seven hundred and fifty miles,” she muttered. “Thirty hours. That’s too long. They’ll never survive.”

Paul looked glum as well. “If they’re in the water, they’re already gone,” he said. “Three hours or thirty, it won’t make a difference. Let’s just hope they made it to the boats.”

Gamay appreciated what he was trying to do, but she knew the score. “If the ship went down too fast for the emergency beacon to send out a signal, what are the chances anyone got off in a lifeboat?”

Her mind was imagining what the crew of the Orion might be experiencing. The water temps had to be in the thirties, with the ambient air temperature dropping into the teens at night.

Paul reached over and wrapped his arms around her. “We can’t give up hope. And we won’t.”

“This is why I love you, Paul,” she said. “No matter how crazy you make me at times, you really know what I need.”

“I also know that Kurt and Joe are survivors,” he said. “And that every man and woman on that ship has been well trained. Let’s not write them off yet. Instead, let’s be ready to lend assistance when we get there.”

She wrapped her arms around Paul’s waist and nodded. “Okay, but don’t stop hugging me just yet. I need a few more moments of this before I get back to the real world.”

* * *

Seven hundred and fifty miles from the Gemini, the Orion’s survivors huddled in the small orange life raft as it wallowed in the persistent western swell.

For the better part of four hours, they rose and fell in a circular motion, surrounded by utter darkness. Neither the moon nor the stars were visible through the heavy layer of clouds. Aside from the dim glow of his watch, Kurt saw no light in any direction.

Worse than the darkness was the silence. But, worst of all, was the cold.

The frigid air was painfully debilitating to the men and women in their wet clothing. Even with them huddled together under a thermal blanket, their core temperatures were slowly dropping. A process that would only accelerate as their bodies digested the last meal they’d eaten.

Kurt was already hungry, though he did his best not to think about food and instead tried to imagine himself on a beach in the Mediterranean with the sun beaming down on him and a drink in his hand. Somehow, the image wouldn’t last.

A sort of trancelike state had come over them. It was akin to depression. Kurt figured they’d better break it somehow.

“Any chance those alien friends of yours might come pick us up?” Kurt muttered to Joe. “I’d take a warm spaceship with little green men over this freezing life raft.”

Joe shrugged. “They don’t seem to like cold weather either. Roswell. Ayers Rock. Chichen Itza. If we were shipwrecked a little closer to one of those locations, we’d have a shot.”

Kurt didn’t bother to point out that there was little water near any of those places.

“Dorado and Gemini are not too far away,” Kurt said. “If our beacon went off, they’ll be on their way.”

“Do they have a hot chocolate dispenser on board?” Joe asked.

“I hope so.”

“What about a sauna?” someone else asked.

“Something tells me NUMA didn’t spring for that.”

“Too bad,” Joe added.

“I’ll settle for dry clothes and a warm rack,” Kurt replied. “In the meantime, I’m trying to imagine a dry sauna, with smooth wood paneling and the smell of eucalyptus oil. But it doesn’t seem to be working. Apparently, this mind-over-matter stuff is harder than you think.”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “I’ve convinced myself I hear a ship approaching.”

Kurt tilted his head. He heard nothing.