Back To Earth. Danilo Clementoni
Azakis.
âMy dear friend, the âmysterious objectâ that can smash up my ship has yet to be invented,â assured Petri with a mischievous smile.
With a quick manoeuvre that momentarily threw them both off balance, Petri reversed the polarity on the two Bousen engines. The ship shuddered for several moments. It was only the sophisticated artificial gravity system compensating instantly for this alteration that stopped the crew from being flung against the wall in front.
âNice move,â called Azakis, giving his friend a sharp slap on the shoulder. âBut how are we going to stop this spinning?â The objects around them had already begun to rise and were whirling around the room.
âJust a moment,â said Petri, who was still pressing buttons and fiddling with controls.
âI just need to...â Beads of sweat were slowly seeping from his forehead.
âTo open the...â he went on, while everything in the room continued to fly around out of control. Even the two of them were beginning to lift off the floor. The artificial gravity system could no longer compensate for the immense centrifugal force that had been generated. They were becoming increasingly lighter.
â...Tailgate three!â shouted Petri finally, as every object in the room fell to the ground at the same time. Azakis was prevented from making a dull moan by a heavy refuse container that hit him between the third and fourth ribs. Petri fell from the height at which he was hovering onto the console, landing in an unnatural and ridiculous posture.
The impact probability estimate had fallen to 18% and was still decreasing rapidly.
âEverything okay?â gasped Azakis, trying to conceal the pain in his right side.
âYes, yes. Iâm fine, Iâm fine,â replied Petri, trying to get onto his feet.
An instant later Azakis was contacting the crew, who promptly informed their commander that there was no damage to any property and no one wounded.
The manoeuvre they had just performed had deflected the Theos slightly off course and the pressure drop caused by opening the gate had been immediately counterbalanced by the automated system.
6%, 4%, 2%.
âDistance from object: 60,000 km,â continued the voice.
They both held their breath, waiting to reach the 50,000 km distance, beyond which the short-range sensors would be triggered. These moments seemed interminable.
âDistance from object: 50,000 km. Short-range sensors activated.â
The blurred image in front of them suddenly came into sharp focus. The object appearing on the screen was distinct, every detail visible. The two astronauts looked at one another, their eyes wide open, each searching the face of the other for an answer.
âUnbelievable!â they exclaimed in unison.
Nassiriya â Masgouf restaurant
Colonel Hudson was nervously pacing up and down the hallway in front of the main dining area of the restaurant. Virtually every minute, he checked the tactical watch he always wore on his left wrist. He didnât even take this off to go to sleep. He was as excited as a teenager on a first date.
To help pass the time he had ordered a Martini on the rocks with a slice of lemon. The moustached barman watched him from beneath his thick eyebrows while lazily drying a set of long-stemmed glasses.
Alcohol was not permitted in Islamic countries. That evening, however, an exception had been made. The small restaurant had been completely reserved for the two of them.
As soon as heâd finished his conversation with Doctor Hunter the Colonel had contacted the owner, requesting the Masgouf house special, from which the restaurant took its name. Because of the difficulty in obtaining the main ingredient, which was tiger sturgeon, he had wanted to make sure that the establishment could provide it. Knowing that it required at least two hours of preparation, he had insisted on its being cooked unhurriedly, to absolute perfection.
As his camouflage uniform was inappropriate for the evening, he had decided to dust off his dark Valentino suit, which he combined with a silk regiment-style, grey and white striped tie. The black shoes, polished as only a soldier knew how, were also Italian. The tactical watch certainly had nothing to do with this, but he could not have done without it.
âThey're on their wayâ. The crackling voice came from the receiver, similar to a mobile phone, which he kept in his breast pocket. He switched it off and looked out through the window.
The big, dark car swerved to avoid a crumpled bag that was suspended in the breeze and rolling lazily along the street. With a quick manoeuvre it drew up right outside the restaurant entrance. The driver allowed the dust raised by the vehicle to settle back onto the ground, then cautiously got out of the car. The âall clearâ came from the headset concealed in his right ear. Carefully, he glanced at all the previously agreed positions, until he was certain that he had identified each one of his fellow soldiers who, in combat gear, would take care of the security of the two diners for the duration of the dinner.
The area was secure.
He opened the rear door and gently held out his right hand to help his passenger out.
Elisa thanked the soldier and elegantly stepped out of the car. She looked upwards as she filled her lungs with the clear evening air, pausing for an instant to contemplate the magnificent view that only the starry sky of the desert could provide.
The colonel waited for a moment, unable to decide whether to go out and meet her or stay inside and wait for her to come in. In the end he chose to remain seated, in the hope that this would make him appear less nervous. Then, with feigned indifference, he walked over to the bar, perched on a high stool and, resting his left elbow on the dark wooden surface, downed the last drop of the beverage that remained in his glass, watching as the lemon seed fell slowly to the bottom.
The door opened with a slight squeak and the military driver looked around, checking that everything was in order. The colonel gave a slight nod, and the escort showed Elisa in, inviting her to walk ahead with a generous sweep of the hand.
âGood evening, Doctor Hunter,â said the colonel, rising from his stool and displaying his best smile. âI trust that the journey was comfortable?â
âGood evening, colonel,â replied Elisa, with an equally dazzling smile. âVery nice, thank you. Your driver was very kind.â
âYou can go now, thank you,â he told the driver in a voice of authority. With a military salute, the young man turned on his heels and disappeared into the night.
âCan I offer you an aperitif, professor?â asked the colonel, calling the moustached barman over with a wave of the hand.
âWhatever youâre having,â replied Elisa without hesitating, pointing to the glass of Martini that the colonel was still holding. Then, she added, âPlease call me Elisa, colonel. Iâd prefer it.â
âCertainly. And you can call me Jack. âColonelâ is just for my soldiers.â
This is a good start, thought the colonel.
The barman skilfully poured the second Martini and handed it to the new arrival. Lifting her glass, she clinked it with that of the colonel.
âCheers,â she said in a lively tone, taking a sip.
âI must say youâre looking splendid this evening, Elisa,â said the colonel, running his eyes quickly up and down his guest.â
âWell, you donât look so bad yourself. A uniform may have its charms, but I prefer you like this,â she said, smiling devilishly and tilting her head to