Between the Strokes of Night

“Awful. No radio or television signals are coming out — or if they’re trying, they’re lost in the static. We tried for an estimate of released energy, just a few minutes ago. Thirty-five thousand megatons.” Hans sighed. “Five tons of TNT for every person on the planet. There’s night now, all over Earth — sunlight can’t penetrate the dust clouds.”

“How many casualties?”

“Two billion, three billion?” Hans shook his head. “It’s not over yet. Disease and climate changes will get the rest.”

“Everyone? Everyone on Earth?”

Hans did not reply. He sat hunched at the console, staring at the screen. The whole face of the planet was one dark smear. After a few seconds Wolfgang continued back to his own quarters. Hans and the others were right. Soon the ships would be docking, but before that there was the need for solitude and silent grief.

Charlene was waiting for him in a darkened room. He went and took her in his arms. For several minutes they sat in silence, holding each other close. The pace of events had been so fast for many hours that they had been numbed, and only now did their awful significance begin to sink home. For Charlene in particular, less than twenty-four hours away from Earth and the Neurological Institute, everything had a feeling of unreality. Soon, she felt, the spell would break and she would return to the familiar and comfortable world of experiments, progress reports, and weekly staff meetings.

Wolfgang stirred in her arms. She lifted his hand and rubbed it along her cheek. “What’s the news on JN?” he said at last. “I didn’t like the look of de Vries.” Charlene shivered in the darkness. “Bad as it could be. Jan met with her this morning, when she had the final lab test results. She has a rapidly growing and malignant brain tumor — even worse than we’d feared.”

“Inoperable?”

“Not completely — that’s what Jan de Vries was asking about. There is an operation and associated chemotherapy program, one that’s been successful one time out of five. But only a handful of places and people could perform it. There’s no way to do it on Salter Station — you heard Ferranti, it would take five years of development.”

“How long does she have?”

“Two or three months, no more.” Charlene had held back her feelings through the day, but now she was quietly weeping. “Maybe less — the acceleration at launch knocked her unconscious, and that’s a bad sign. It was only three gee. And every facility that could have done the operation, back on Earth, is dust. Wolfgang, she’s doomed. We can’t operate here, and she can’t go back there.” He was again silent for a while, rocking Charlene back and forward gently in his arms. “This morning we seemed at the beginning of everything,” he said. “Twelve hours later, and now it’s the end. Wherry said it: the end of everything. I didn’t tell you this, but he’s dying, too. I feel sure of it. He gave me a message for JN, to work on cold sleep for the arcologies. I promised to deliver it to her, and I will. But now it doesn’t matter.”

“They’re all gone,” said Charlene softly. “Earth, Judith Niles, Salter Wherry. What’s left?”

Wolfgang was silent for a long time. In the darkness, feeling his body warm against her, Charlene wondered if he had really heard her. They were both beginning to drowse off, as nervous exhaustion drained away all energy. She felt too weak to move.

Finally Wolfgang grunted and stirred. He took a long, steadying breath. “We’re left. We’re still here. And the animals, they’re here too. Somebody has to look after them. They can’t be left to starve.”

He pulled her head to lean against his shoulder. “Let’s stay here, try to rest a little. Then we can go and feed old Jinx. Some things have to get done — even after the end of the world.”

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Interlude

For almost four hours there had been no conversation. The three white-garbed figures were absorbed with their particular duties, and the gauze masks imposed an added isolation and anonymity. The air in the chamber was freezingly cold. The workers rubbed at their chilled hands, but they were reluctant to wear thermal gloves and risk decreased dexterity.

The woman on the table had been unconscious throughout. Her breathing was so shallow that the monitors’ reassurance was necessary to tell of her survival and stable condition. Electrodes and catheters ran into her abdomen, chest cavity, nose, eyes, spinal column, and skull. A thick tube had been connected to a major artery in the groin, ready to pump blood to the chemical exchange device that stood by the table.