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Terry.
    Trisha stopped winding a bandage around Chris' forearm, and
looked up. "There's us," she said.
    A long moment passed in silence as all eyes scanned the NASA
complex surrounding them. For the first time in his life, Chris felt
weak in the knees.
    "Nothing," said Owen slowly, "is moving. At all."
    Terry spun, looking in all directions. "Where is everybody?"

     

TWO

    Chris opened his eyes and stared straight up into the colossal F1
engine bell of a very real Saturn V rocket. The mammoth machine
was suspended in the air but horizontal, extending almost four hundred feet in length. The rocket was broken apart and on display in its
multiple stages, enclosed inside a custom-made building lined with
brightly colored gift shops and attractions. Hanging from the ceiling
on one side of the rocket was a row of enormous re-creations of the
Apollo mission crew patches, laid out in chronological order. The
dark building's interior was lit by colorful signs and neon lights, all
designed to appeal to tourists.
    Chris knew there were five engine bells attached to the bottom
of the Saturn V rocket, and he lay directly under one of them, off to
one side of the massive ship. He sat up. Before him was a wall of
plate-glass windows looking out onto a line of palm trees, an overgrown patch of grass, and a series of grandstands for VIPs to get the best possible view of launch pads 39A and 39B-from which every
manned mission into space was launched.

    He looked around, his mind slow to process. He knew this place.
It was the Apollo/Saturn V Center at Kennedy Space Center. A major
stop on the public tour and not far from the runway on which the
Ares had crash-landed. He'd been in this building many times-he'd
even spoken here before. NASA's golden boy. A career Air Force pilot
who'd been given the opportunity of a lifetime. One he'd promised
he wouldn't fail, though at the time he wondered if the press wasn't
right, that he'd been given the role because of his looks more than
his ability. Being back here returned his perspective. Something
about sitting right underneath the three thousand ton vehicle-the
most complex piece of machinery ever constructed by man, until
the Ares and the powerful booster rockets that shot it into space
came along-always made him feel like a gnat. No single person
could live up to the expectations of the position, so why shouldn't
it have been him?
    The Apollo/Saturn building had power, but it was deserted. That
thought helped him remember that he was back home, that the Ares
had crashed violently, but they were alive. Alive, and ... alone? Had
he passed out on the runway? He remembered the world seeming
to spin beneath his feet, and then ...
    He'd woken up here.
    His pulse quickened, his breaths coming faster, more shallow.
    "You're awake."
    Chris looked behind to see Owen half walking, half jogging in
his direction from somewhere deeper within the building, carrying
several small items in his arms. He still wore his flight suit, minus
the helmet, and it was then that Chris realized he was still wearing
his own flight suit as well.
    "Here, eat something," Owen said as he came closer, maintaining
his logical, businesslike tone, even now. He opened his arms and
Burke saw a selection of snack bags containing chips and cookies, no doubt requisitioned from the building's gift shop or deli. He shrugged
as Chris examined the junk food. `All I could find."

    Owen Beechum was the crew's mission specialist, a genius-level
intellect, and the one member of the crew without a background
in aviation. He was an expert in many fields of academia, making
him an invaluable addition to the team. But Owen's appointment
to the crew hadn't come without controversy; he was a late addition, brought on just over a year before the mission was scheduled
to depart. The previous astronaut assigned to his job-a longtime
NASA scientist named Mitchell Dodd-shocked the world with an
announcement that